The Truth or Something In Between
by Heath07
Summary: There's a difference between trusting someone and wanting to trust them. Written from prompts. Weevil, Logan and Veronica. Duncan and Kendall mentions.


**Title: The Truth or Something In-Between**

**Rating: R**

**Summary: A fic based on prompts. (See end of fic for prompts.) Weevil, Logan and Veronica. Duncan and Kendall mentions.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything etc.**

**Notes: Many thanks to the wonderful avoidingnemo for not only giving me the prompts but for also looking over this fic and being patient with me when I'm sure I must have driven her crazy.**

* * *

Okay, so they kind of suck at this detective thing. Sherlock Holmes and Watson they are not. They'd gotten a lead –their first solid one since they'd teamed up to find Felix's killer—and had followed a very scattered paper trail to the building across the street. The plan was simple. Grab a pair of binoculars, set up shop in an abandoned warehouse, and wait. 

The whole surveillance thing is a whole lot more interesting in movies, though. Yeah, definitely not a well thought out plan. Especially when there are no bathrooms in sight and he's just polished off a second grande mocha latte.

How the _hell_ does Veronica stand it? Logan mentally slaps himself. Thinking of Veronica is a surefire sign that this waiting around bullshit has been going on way too long.

Logan turns, paces, stops, looks up at Weevil and begins to pace again.

"We've been here three hours; don't your people know how to tell time?" he asks, eyes shifting over the tin walls and scaffolding. His voice holds only a fraction of bitterness, the rest is restless boredom.

Weevil, perched on the scaffolding, legs dangling freely, shakes his head down at Logan. "Didn't your parents teach you patience?"

Logan stops. The mask slips into place and his mouth forms a smile. He's so rehearsed that he makes it look natural.

"Well, let's see. My mother taught me how to throw myself off a bridge when life got a little too rough and my father taught me that when you have a problem, the best thing to do is kill your son's girlfriend and then, you know, when you get caught, try to kill his _other_ girlfriend and let's not forget his girlfriend's father…they're busy people, so I'm pretty sure it was just an oversight."

"Ouch, you're breaking my heart."

Logan shrugs, smirking. "What can I say? They didn't make a movie-of-the-week about your life. And, hey, that's just a shame, really. They could have saved a lot on budget. I mean, your people could have built the set and everything."

"Yeah, but then I don't think Jensen Ackles would be quite as convincing playing me instead of you."

"They could give him a tan."

Weevil chuckles.

"Tan or not, he's still too pretty to play either one of us."

At least they are on the same side for once, however briefly this partnership is going to last. For now he takes the dig in stride. They'll be back to being enemies soon enough and he'd much rather save all his good material for then.

"I hate to say it, but maybe we should call a cute little blonde we both know, speed up the process."

"Veronica?" he says, and he tries to make it sound casual. "I hate to tell you this, Weev's, but neither one of us are her favourite people right now."

"Speak for yourself."

"Right, because shooting out my windows in the jeep, _really_ endeared you to her."

He hides the actual terror of that evening--the nightmares that had followed of Veronica bleeding in his arms--under sarcasm and quick quips. It is the same philosophy he had applied to dealing with his grief over Lilly. Nothing said 'I'm okay' like a cleverly planted dig at someone else's insecurities. And maybe that's why he was so mean to Veronica for that entire year after Lilly was killed –because it was easier to be smug and sardonic and carefree than it was to allow himself to feel all the rage building inside.

"I told you I didn't do that, man."

"Yeah, but it came from your gang of thugs, so that's almost like the bullets were coming from you. It's enough to freak her out, comprender?"

Logan can't forget the way her body trembled next to his, how her teeth wouldn't stop chattering even after he turned the heat on in the car and the way she answered that she was '_fine'_ so coldly, like he'd been the one firing the gun.

Behind him, Logan can hear Weevil climbing down. He doesn't bother turning around.

"Hey, Opie, is this cutting into your daydreaming?"

"I was just thinking how great your grandmother would look-"

The rest of the sentence is cut off by a sharp blow to Logan's skull. He blinks, sees a fuzzy outline of someone who is definitely not Weevil, and then the world goes black.

* * *

Logan didn't see who hit him, but when he wakes up, his head is splitting and there are stars shooting in front of his eyes. His skin feels cold and bruised against the concrete ground. Groaning, he tries to move, discovering his hands and feet have been duct-tapped together, and the only article of clothing he's wearing are a pair of dusty boxers. 

"Weevil?" he calls into the darkness, straining to see the figure curled up beside him.

He tries to nudge him, but Weevil is still unconscious. Touching a nearly-naked Weevil is not high on his priority list, so he waits and watches for any signs of life. Finally, Weevil stirs beside him.

Now it's time to call Veronica.

Weevil manages to get himself into a sitting position. He rolls his shoulders and twists to look at Logan.

"What the _hell_ happened?"

"I think we've been busted, Paco."

"No shit. Man, my head feels like I've been on a bender for about a week."

"Tequila, no doubt. Look, kick your foot to the right and slide that over to me. Looks like our masked assailants didn't leave us totally defenseless."

Weevil pushes the phone carefully over to Logan's hands. Managing to flip open the phone, he rolls over and dial's with the tip of his nose, conscious of the set of eyes watching him. He just hopes it's too dark for Weevil to see all the scars on his back –another lesson from daddy dearest.

"I need your help," he says, barely letting her get out a hello.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Actually," he says and spares a glance at Weevil, "_we_ need your help."

"And who would _we_ be?"

"Me, and my good pal _Eli_," Logan replies, sarcastically. "Oh, and we're going to need some clothes."

Logan can hear the gasp. He's not sure how to interpret it, so he doesn't. "Weevil's with you? Wh-"

That's Veronica for him, always with the questions.

"I'll explain everything when you get here. Just hurry, please. I'm getting a draft."

The phone rings five times before Logan manages to answer it. Lucky his tongue is so dexterous.

"Okay, I'm here. Where are you?"

Logan pinches his eyes closed. "We're, uh, in the closet."

"Oh, reeeally," she says, hanging up the phone so that all Logan hears is the dial tone over the tapping of her feet outside the door.

She pulls open the door with gusto. A brilliant smile is lighting her face. Later he'll deny he even noticed.

"Hello, boys!" she exclaims and snaps a good three or fours shots from the camera around her neck. "This here's yearbook material."

Logan blinks away the flash. "Untying would be nice."

"Oh, right. Just one more?" she begs and snaps another few shots before she sets about cutting the tape around Weevil's wrists and ankles.

Logan waits patiently for his turn. For a second he thinks she's just going to continue taking pictures and then leave him there, but something in her eyes change and the next thing he knows his hands are free and the blood is rushing back into his fingers with a painful tingle.

"Veronica, my hero!" Logan proclaims, in an over-exaggerated manner.

"Nice shiner."

"Thanks. It was a two-for-one discount," Logan tells her, pointing his chin at Weevil's equally bruised complexion.

"Clothes," she says and hands them to their respected owners.

Logan doesn't miss the lingering glance as she tosses him his shoes. He should turn around to put on his clothes, but he doesn't want to think about her flinching, like he knows she will, when she sees the damage Aaron has caused over the years. Even though he has grand illusions that she'd touch the different scars--some years old and faded, others still angry and red from the last time he stepped out of line--with cool hands and whisper something soothing into his ear. Something that might give him hope instead of shame, something that might make his laughter sound sincere, and allow his bottled tears to finally fall. And he shouldn't want that. He shouldn't want her hands anywhere near his skin and only a pussy would cry.

Weevil, already dressed, puts his arm around Veronica and pulls her in close to his side. "Thanks for saving the day, V."

Logan takes her moment of distraction to pull on his jeans and slip his t-shirt on over his head.

"What would the two of you do without me?" she says, gently pushing him away to take a look at their surroundings. She whistles, lowly. "So, what's this, like a secret rendezvous? Should I sign up for PFLAG? Forbidden love is always so tragic."

"Good one. What gave us away?"

Veronica taps her finger against her chin, as if she needs time to think about her answer. "Hmm… I think it was the nakedness, the carefully bound limbs, and the matching love taps."

"I told you we need to be more discreet, honey," Logan says, fluttering his eyelashes.

Weevil rolls his eyes.

"So, what exactly happened here?"

"I can't really say. We were talking and the next thing I know I get popped in the head and dragged into the closet."

"And what were the two of you doing?"

"Baking cookies. What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're going about this the wrong way."

"Well then, please, Veronica, tell us what we're doing wrong, since you're the expert. I'm sure we can benefit greatly from your extensive knowledge. Perhaps you could explain the key to the Money Shot or how exactly to put the bracelets on the bad guys. Maybe we could all sit around and reminisce about the boys you've put in the big house while donning our detective hats and sipping some hooch."

It's harsh, but he's on a roll and he can't seem to stop himself.

Veronica doesn't rise to the occasion. Instead, she turns her attention to Weevil.

"This is about Felix, isn't it?"

Weevil looks at the ground. "You don't need to get involved in this."

"Too late. I'm already involved."

"Listen, when I know anything, you'll be the first one I call."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"I don't know. I'm a trustworthy guy, aren't I?"

Veronica tilts her head to the side.

Weevil smirks, shaking his head. "Oh no, that's not going to work this time. I can't tell you what I don't know."

"You'll call?"

"Number three on speed dial."

"Just three?" she says, mock-pouting.

"Catch you later, V. Make sure Opie here gets home safely."

Logan watches the exchange closely. He can't help feeling a little jealous. It's so easy between them.

"Why, Eli, I didn't know you cared."

They are left with awkward silence as Weevil makes a quick exist. Something tells Logan that he got more than just a glimpse of whoever did this to them. He'd hate to be that guy right now.

Logan watches the debate warring in Veronica's eyes. He can see the exact moment when she decides to be civil.

"I didn't see your jeep outside."

It's an implied question. He really shouldn't accept, and it's not like he really wants to be stuck in uncomfortable silence for the ten minute drive back to the hotel, but he needs to get home and shower off and she's going his way.

"Right. Damn sidecar!" he says, sarcastically. "I'm gonna need a ride."

"Manners?"

"Please?"

"That's better," she says, walking toward the exit. She looks over her shoulder and there's a cheeky smile on her lips. "I'll even let you ride up front in the big boy seat."

Logan smiles and begins to follow. "Swell."

* * *

She's distracted. She's in Veronicaland—that place she goes to block out everything, including him. He wonders what she thinks about. He wonders whether she thinks about her mother--if she's written her off completely, like he has his father, or if there is still some hope left. 

Her fingers are tight around the steering wheel. He wonders if she even remembers that he's sitting next to her. He decides that it's his obligation to remind her of his presence.

"Seen Duncan lately?" he says, casually.

Veronica's grip on the steering wheel increases, her knuckles turn white with the effort. "He's still my boyfriend."

The corners of his mouth curl. "That's not what I asked."

"Of course I've seen him."

"Really? It just seems that there hasn't been a whole lot of, you know, _noise_ coming from Duncan's room these days…well, unless you count the times when Kendall comes to visit."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she says, sharply.

"Nothing," he simply says, like that's the end of it. And he knows that Veronica will never let the conversation end there. She needs to know, ask questions. It's what she does.

She swerves onto the shoulder of the road, cuts the engine and turns in her seat. "You obviously have something to say. Come on, don't hold back now, Logan. Get it all off your chest."

There was no reason for him to goad her into an argument, except for the fact that he misses this magical spark that makes Veronica who she is. He doesn't want to look at her. He doesn't want to see all the emotions swimming in her eyes, because then he'll want to know what they mean. Because he's pretty damn sure that somewhere she's still holding on to a thin thread of him just as tightly as his is her.

And he doesn't want to fight, but he knows it's inevitable. That's just the way things are between them now. They just go from one pointless argument to the next. Nothing is ever resolved.

He wonders, sometimes, how someone so damn smart can't see something that's right in front of her. Maybe she chooses to ignore it. _That_ he could buy. Because there's no way that Veronica doesn't know that Duncan is slipping someone else the old sausage. She hasn't stayed over in three nights. He knows this because the faint scent of her perfume has finally faded, leaving the barely tolerable stench of two adolescent males accustomed to maids.

The silence stretches, turns into an almost tangible thing. Logan reaches out his hand, grabbing at the air, as if evaporate it with his touch.

"Logan?"

He concentrates on his palm. "It works better if you turn the car on."

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me what you meant by that."

He leans back, resting his head against the seat. "Oh, promise? 'Cause there's nothing I'd like more than to be stuck in a car with you while you grill me about your boyfriend's after school activities…or should I say proclivities?"

"Are you going to tell me or are we going to play word games all night?"

"I prefer the words games," he replies, caustically.

"Just tell me what you're obviously having such a hard time saying."

There's an edge to her voice, like she knows the other shoe is about to drop. And why did he have to go and do this to her? Fuck the fact that he's just being a good Samaritan. That's bullshit. He knows it.

He lays out his cards with his usual pizzazz.

"What do you think I'm trying to say? Duncan's been getting his dick wet with Kendall! There. Happy? Like father, like son, I guess."

She looks disgusted. Whether it's directed toward him or Duncan, he can't be sure. "That's vulgar."

There's his answer.

Logan leans over, prepares to touch her hand, but decides better of it. The last thing he needs is to end up in a cast.

"Look, I'm not trying to hurt you. It's just the opposite. I can't--no, I won't--sugarcoat things. Duncan's my best friend, but…" he trails off, sighing heavily. "I mean, fuck, Veronica, just think about it."

She's uncertain, he can tell. If she doubted him before, she doesn't now.

"I-I don't believe you."

"Yes, you do. And that's what's killing you. That _I'm_ the trustworthy one instead of _him_."

Her head whips around. She pins him with her incredulous stare.

"You think you have all the answers, don't you? And if I remember correctly, up until recently you didn't have any qualms about slipping Kendall your dipstick."

"That may be true, but let's not forget that_ my_ dipstick isn't promised to anyone else. Whereas, Duncan's rod bel-"

"Just stop it!"

"Tell me it's not true," he challenges.

Veronica can't and they both know it.

"How do you know for sure?"

He feels exhausted. Trading verbal insults with Veronica tends to have that affect. She drains him. "I just do."

"Oh, so is this one of those guy things? A little high-five and don't tell the little woman?"

There's malice in her strangled tone. And he knows she needs an outlet for all the feelings she's trying to bottle up. He's the only one around and her anger is going to find him.

"No."

"Then how are you so sure?"

A part of him wants to spare her the awful truth, but he knows she won't stop until she has all the cold, hard facts.

"Because I saw them, okay? Sweaty…writhing…fucking…whatever. And dude, Duncan has really bad form. I'm surprised he hasn't-"

"Shut up! Just shut up."

That has certainly taken the wind out of her sails. Logan feels a twinge of discomfort, but it passes quickly. He realizes too late that a part of him wants her to hurt.

He turns his head. She looks defeated

Logan sighs.

"It's never going to be like it was. I mean, you know that, right? You can't go back, Veronica. None of us can. No matter how much we might want to."

Veronica is silent. So he continues.

"Although, the human brain is a miraculous thing…we can almost make ourselves believe anything, wouldn't you agree?"

"You're so sad," she says so low he can barely hear her.

She closes her eyes and leans forward. Her head hits the steering wheel softly.

She means it in a bad way. She means that he's an ass and pathetic and that she has his number, but she's right, he is sad. Everything about him is laced with a little tragedy. Veronica is the only one that seems to recognize that. And maybe that's what drives her actions. Because she's just as tragic.

The air in the car feels unusually charged.

He's not expecting it when she climbs over the armrest and is all of a sudden in his lap, pushing him so far down into the seat that he loses all leverage and is grappling with the door handle.

What the hell is happening? He decides that she's lost it. That she's finally completely broken. A girl can only take so much before she snaps.

He should know. He's been there.

The kiss is hot—her mouth, more specifically, is hot over his, wetting his very dry lips. Her tongue is pushing into his mouth and he doesn't stop her. It's fast and rough and sloppy. Fingers are digging into his forearm, nails not-quite piercing his skin as she rocks in his lap, begging him to hold her, to make her feel safe. But he doesn't know how. He knows it's all a lie.

Even so, when he manages to get a hand free, he doesn't hesitate in undoing the buttons of her shirt and slipping his palm against her ribcage, tickling the soft skin there and then moving his fingers deftly over the silky material of her bra.

The back of his other hand brushes against her neck. She shivers. He turns his hand, cradling her head as his fingers touch the silky strands of her hair.

"Do you have something?" she whispers, clutching to him like if she lets go, she'll simply dissolve.

The question shocks him. He can't even form words. He says the first coherent thing that comes to his mind.

"Is your hair lighter?"

It's not what he wanted to say, he realizes, just as the words hit the air. Veronica doesn't seem to care.

"As in weight or colour?"

"Colour," he croaks, as her lips trail a path down his neck, sucking at the tender spots where his pulse beats erratically below the skin.

"Highlights."

She goes back to kissing him, touching him.

"Oh," he manages to say, before his mouth is otherwise occupied.

Her skin is so hot under his fingers, so hot that he can feel the burn even through the layer of material covering her breast. A padded bra and who knew?

She's moaning against his ear, her tongue snaking out to touch the tip, causing his hands to shake everywhere they touch her. She pulls back, her body crushed to his and looks him in the eye.

His heart feels too full of blood, like at any moment it will burst and he will perish. There's a vision of Lilly waiting at the pearly gates for him, smiling and saying something like, 'I told you so.' She'll mean, of course, that Veronica is too good for him. That he can't really expect to fit into her world without all the pain that will accompany such an endeavour.

Sometimes, Logan wants to just give up and die, leave this mortal coil and find Lilly, his mother, find some peace. But when he looks at Veronica lips, swollen and glossy, he forgets about everything else. And he thinks, maybe, that the sound of her breathing could sustain him.

They've never had sex, but he knows that it would be ten times better than anything she's ever experienced with Duncan.

He still remembers the night that she let his hand slip into her underwear. The way she gave her permission so freely, like it hadn't been a sacrifice at all, like she wasn't thinking about anything or anyone else. The way her face reddened from shyness and then later, from arousal. How she bit her lip just as her orgasm peaked. And that look of awe as they lay nestled together afterwards.

He's so caught up in memories and times past that he doesn't hear her and when he finally tunes in, he can't trust his own ears.

"Logan," she says and repeats her question, "Do you have a…a…condom?"

Alarm bells are going off in his head. "Wait. We shouldn't— We can't."

He's protesting, but his body still accommodates her.

"Ooh. I think we can. I'm guessing that's not a gun in your pocket. Maybe we should find out for sure."

"Ver-"

She cuts off his protest with her mouth.

Her hands pull at his shirt, sliding under the cotton and smoothing over his back. One hand slides down and moves to the front of his pants. She strokes him through his jeans and, _Jesus Christ_, she's going to make him come if she keeps that up.

It's so good. But wrong. And will he ever understand Veronica Mars?

The other hand continues to move over his back. Her nail presses into an old wound, shocking him back to reality.

"What are you doing?" Even as the words come out of his mouth, he knows he's asking the wrong question. The right question would have been: what are _we_ doing? Because he still hasn't pushed her away –not yet, anyway. He's still participating.

"I don't know. I don't know," she answers, breathily.

It's the repetition that gets to him. It hits him right in the chest, like it has been scrapped from his heart.

This is not Veronica. This is her anger and pain. Veronica is faithful and rational...well, maybe not so much rational as grounded. She's not a cheater, but Duncan is. And payback is a bitch. Veronica has made it her life's mission to get even with the world.

It has been months since he's felt her like this, since their skin has touched and their bodies have been so intimately pressed, but it feels just the same. Comforting, familiar and strange. Inevitable. It's this perfect combination of nonsense.

They're both serial sadists and that's why they can't work. As soon as something starts to feel good, they have to go and blow it to bits. They'll hurt each other until there's nothing left to hurt anymore, until they're just a pile of what they used to be.

"We don't have to stop," she says and it comes out more desperately than he knows she would have liked.

"Duncan," he says in a last-ditch effort to quell her gyrating hips.

It works.

Her eyes go wide, her pupils still dilated with lust. They're so fucking blue that it hurts. He thinks he sees the beginning of tears. It's a beautiful contrast to her flushed and glowing skin. Her mouth is red and ravaged, and _fuck him_, because he wants to kiss her until both their lips are raw and chapped. And she shouldn't make him feel this way anymore.

The tears collect quickly—too quickly for her to brush them away. A fat drop rolls down her cheek.

She catches the sop before it gets a chance to escape.

His shirt is fisted in her tiny hands.

"Logan, please."

She wants him to kiss her again—take the lead this time, even if that means he's going to be a real asshole about it--and they both know it. But he's not going to do it. He won't give either one of them the satisfaction. He's fallen into that trap before and he's still trying to climb out. And even her pleading eyes and the slight hitch in her breath is not going to make a bit of difference. His mind is made up.

Because he knows this isn't about him. This is about revenge. This is about needing to feel. No, this isn't about him, or their extinct relationship, at all. It's just a horrible cliché that he doesn't want any part of.

Somehow, they've both become placeholders for someone else. And is it so wrong to want to be the right person for once? Being allowed to find the void that no one else can even begin to fill. He wants to flood her veins with his warmth. Carve out a hollow in her soul. Make a place for himself where no one else can touch. And he knows it's stupid and sappy, but he's had enough people leave him and he just wants one person to stick around. But making that happen means allowing someone to get close and he's already been burned once by Veronica. She'll fuck him up and he's not sure he can survive it a second time.

So, there's all these feelings and emotions and a bunch of crap that they should deal with, but instead, he leans back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking.

"Is the sex with Duncan really that bad?"

He makes a sarcastic quip instead. He's Logan. It's what he does.

To protect himself, he has to hurt her a little.

He expects to be slapped or punched or _something_, but there's nothing. There's just quiet resignation in her eyes as she slides back into her own seat and readjusts her top.

He does the same, watching her from the corner of his eye. He doesn't like the look in her eyes or the way she automatically turns the key in the ignition.

The engine is uncharacteristically quiet and he wonders if it's because the beating of his heart is so loud in his ears.

When the car stops in front of the hotel, he's not prepared to get out. There are a million questions rolling around in his brain and none of them make it past his mouth. It's strange how that happens only around Veronica.

It's her quiet voice that breaks the silence.

"Tell Duncan I'll call him tomorrow."

"You're not coming up?"

She shakes her head slightly.

"Thanks for the ride."

She forces a smile, but she won't look at him.

Nothing is ever resolved.

He'll bring that up the next time they fight –the next time they hurt each other. He knows it's inevitable.

**-End-**

* * *

_Prompts this fic was written around:_

_1. Logan tells V that he thinks Duncan is sleeping with Kendall. Nothing has to be resolved. V can believe him or not. I just want to see how the conversation would go._

_2. Logan and Weevil try to figure out how to find out who killed Felix. A planning session, if you will. I figure these two won't get very far before one suggests they call V._


End file.
